


For Those Who Stop and Stare

by twitch



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 04:38:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7028929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitch/pseuds/twitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dopheld Mitaka thinks he knows General Hux. Using his office as his occasional breakroom allows him to do some lowkey snooping. Beneath the surface, the aspects not revealed by his desk or bookshelf, there is much to be learned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Those Who Stop and Stare

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt over at tfa kink. "Sometimes Mitaka likes to duck into Hux's office for his breaks. Never when Hux is on shift, of course, but it's quiet and not as far as the mess. Only this time, Hux unexpectedly shows back up, and very much not alone. Mitaka manages to hide himself just in time... to watch Kylo Ren bang Hux like a screen door in a hurricane. + Hux swears/accent slips and it is Distressing. + Mitaka has a lowkey (boner for) crush on either or both of them. + Kylo is aware the whole time."

He knows where Hux keeps his liquor. It’s only one bottle, a fine vintage if the year on the label is anything to go by, but the smell is nothing that he recognizes and he doesn’t dare give it a taste. It remains tucked into the back of the large drawer, knowing that it’s a tolerance that helps Hux ignore Kylo when he’s at his worst.

He knows there’s a ring in the drawer in amongst the fine-tipped pens. He opened the box once, to discover the fine band and delicately shaped gems. Far too small to be a man’s and yet he has never heard the general speak of any personal matters, let alone private. 

He knows that the chair is just on the wrong side of comfortable. The leather is soft but the back too straight to allow even the slightest deviation from a straight back. Considering how often he has seen Hux working into the late hours of night the slight discomfort would keep him awake rather than falling asleep over paperwork.

He also knows and succumbs to the scent that wraps the chair. It’s almost like lavender but with a hint of white musk, and the faint smell of the detergent that is used to wash all First Order garments. 

He finds himself relaxing in spite of the awkward position, leaning his cheek into the fragrance and inhaling deeply.

He knows all, having curiously searched the office when this all began, but he doesn’t leave a mark. He’s read the spines of all the books on the shelf. All the details that the desk has to offer, inside and out, he knows intimately. It provides a glimpse into Hux’s orderly life, protocol with a couple of oddities thrown in. Not that he would ever tell him that. He’s fairly sure that Hux doesn’t know he sneaks into his office for his break. When they aren’t working the same shift and he has the time beforehand to eat a small meal. Not only is the mess too far away from his station but it’s too loud. In the dark and quiet of Hux’s office, sitting at his desk and closing his eyes for a few minutes, it’s a peaceful experience, knowing his commander like a confidante. 

He’s allowed to have this fantasy since he has little else to himself but his name and position.

Upon hearing Hux’s voice in the corridor he doubts he’ll even have those.

Launching himself up, steadying the chair to ease it into position before the desk, he slinks around the office, black of his uniform barely distinguishable in the shadows. He slips inside the freestanding closet, climbing behind books and a military jacket. Not Hux’s, it’s too small, but why it hasn’t been removed he doesn’t know. He appreciates it though, since the extra fabric provides some amount of coverage. The closet has met the wrath of Kylo Ren on at least one occasion and the doors don’t meet evenly anymore. The gap is no more than several millimeters but at least he can pretend that no one can see him. 

He can only hope that everyone believes his lie.

The doorknob twists, fingers darting inside once the door opens to find the light switch. A glow fills the room that he subconsciously creeps back the one more foot length he knows he has. Hux takes more than the one step he has but pauses, waiting. “Are you coming in?”

He swallows down a moan when Kylo Ren joins Hux in the office. He has never seen his face but the robes are unmistakable even without the helmet. “I have two informants on Jakku and they have told me the exact same thing. The man has arrived.”

“Perhaps he’s on vacation,” Hux counters but the smirk he gives Ren is friendly, albeit mocking, not the sneer that he normally sees when the two men interact.

“A regular tourist hot spot.” Without the helmet masking his voice to sound foreboding there are new inflections. This one has a hint of humor to its insistence. “The man has the map and he wouldn’t be going to Jakku for any other reason than to sell it.”

Hux nods, circling around to his chair. “How many ships will you be taking down?” 

“Two will be more than enough to capture the old man.” 

Hux chuckles lowly, a sound that he’s never heard or expected to hear from him. “I’ve heard that one before.”

Ren bends his head askance “Two ships?” 

He can’t see Hux’s expression, his back to him, but his voice continues to ring amused. “To capture the old man.”

“It’s not that difficult.” Even casual has the edge of something sharp, a barb that is directed at Hux for reasons he doesn’t understand. Despite that a corner of Ren’s mouth pulls up slightly. “With age comes a lack of… challenge.”

“Is that true?” Straightening up, hands drawing away from the desktop, Hux cocks his head ever so slightly, voice unchanging. “Always?”

“More or less.” Underneath the robe he makes out the slight hitch of Ren’s shoulder, what may have been a considering shrug. “Yes.”

“I seem to recall that you did have to chase one old man. May have been a few months… or maybe five or six.” Now Hux taunts, something he does recognize more readily.

“That wasn’t chasing, that was hunting. And he knew he was being hunted, and encouraged me to pursue.” Ren stalks around the desk as if to demonstrate but Hux doesn’t back away. He never has, here or anywhere else. “That is nature of the hunt. The waiting, the watching…” His hand lifts, gloved fingers raking over Hux’s throat. “The hunt, and the kill.” Fingers take a firm grip, no need to pull or push. There is no trigger, just both men leaning in with heat and hunger and a kiss to kill.

Oh.

He nearly sinks his fingers into the jacket, stopping at the last minute before the hanger creaks in the closet. He wouldn’t put it past Ren to hear him, even with the two men thoroughly distracted. Their feet are firmly rooted even though hands fight for leverage. Hux’s coat is yanked free of his shoulders, precariously draped onto his chair before it slips onto the floor. Neither pay attention, angling and slotting in to find weaknesses that they know suspiciously too well. Moans and shaky inhales say as much, fingers clenching where they can find a temporary grip.

Ren squeezes his thumb down against Hux’s larynx, breaking off the kiss. “You are too easy to catch,” he accuses, though sounding breathless himself for the attack.

Lifting his chin Hux stares him back, insolence not dimming his need. “Your arrogance overwhelms.”

“That’s not what you’ve said previously.” Fingers dragging down, dipping to graze against the cravat, Ren purses his lips together smugly. “Though I do remember other things overwhelming you.”

“Arrogant.” The accusation is there again and before Ren can bring his hand up to silence him, a wave of fingers or his palm against his mouth, Hux nips at his fingers. They barely graze the leather before he tries again, this time catching enough of the fabric between his teeth. There is no chance to smile but the expression is ultimately satisfied when Ren slowly slides his hand out from his glove, helped by Hux pulling his head back. The glove falls between their bodies. “I allowed you to catch me, I wanted to see if you could live up to all that you claimed.”

“Your begging would suggest that I do.” One soft sigh, thoughtful or saddened, is all that is needed to provoke Ren into silencing Hux properly. Fingers tangling into his hair and yanking back bares Hux’s throat to bite, working towards his ear. 

Hux’s hat joins the glove and coat on the floor. The clothing doesn’t hinder movement, even moving away from Ren’s long strides to shove Hux against the closest wall. He reminds himself not to jump as a book falls off the bookshelf, Hux’s elbow rattling the metal upon impact. Just like animals fight the injury doesn’t deter Hux or Ren, it motivates, inciting both to act more vicious in the passion, a little trickle of blood dragging down the side of Hux’s neck with the help of sweat already perspiring.

Clutching and clawing, and Hux getting as far as unfastening Ren’s robes, no less with a satisfied chuckle when a final clasp lets the heavy fabric slip down Ren’s back, Ren sinks his teeth into Hux’s bottom lip before kissing hard again. Hux is all but rutting against his leg, which he doesn’t blame him for, his muscular thigh offered up for use. His own erection is hard and pressing in kind in his unforgiving pants.

A suspender provides a convenient grip when Hux breaks free, visibly lightheaded but not giving up. He moves in, angling teeth for Ren’s ear, but fingers in his hair lever him back, chin angling up. “Ren…” Hux groans.

“You seem to forget – you want me to prove myself to you.” Ren purrs, lips ghosting over his, darting his tongue out to flick at them, a clucking admonishment. “Don’t ever mistake who has their hands on you.” With that reminder he takes a grip on fabric and flesh, both stiff, squeezing until Hux shudders down to his bones. 

“Fuck… yes.” Breathless for the pressure, for fingers picking his belt loose, Hux humps into the air, or tries to allow for more space for his pants to be opened properly. At this point both have validity and that big hand is nothing short of temptation. Which is all the more reason why he bites into his palm, his other hand clinging to his belt, reminding himself not to do it. Even if Hux and Ren are giving him all the right reasons to do it.

Ren makes quick work, Hux’s cock in his hand, jutting out from black fabric, clothes yanked the bare amount out of the way to ensure each stroke and twist isn’t hindered. Hux twitches against the wall, wanting to thrust into his grip, slicking him up the more he drips, but Ren has pressed enough of his weight against one thigh to ensure that he can’t move. Hux would whimper, try to push him back, but his fingers can do no more than grip at the bicep that flexes and cords with each jerk of his hand. “You might control your flock but you are still a servant to the greater master.” Another squeeze and Ren grins in the face of Hux’s struggle. “In the end you are just as easily tamed as everyone else.”

“Of course you would say that-” Hux tries to push his chest out, which is as much as he can do with Ren’s weight pressing him immobile from the waist down. “When my back is up against the wall.”

“And I thought you liked this.” Ren drops his hand, smirking when Hux protests loudly, a sound verging on a whine. He shifts his body fully centred over Hux’s, squeezing and hoisting Hux’s knee up nearly to his waist. Almost weightless for attempting to balance himself on one foot Hux wobbles until Ren rocks against him. “Back or chest up against the wall, with or without your clothing. You do as you’re told and you love it.”

Flushed for his exertions in the face of Ren’s calm Hux swallows heavily, hopelessly trying to drive away the heat. “I’d love it more if you weren’t teasing me.” 

A dark eyebrow lifts, disbelief before curving to follow the smug pull on lips. “I tease you?” It’s not surprise but a laugh that follows the inflection of Ren’s question. “Well, far be it that I do that. How can I fix that?”

Ren takes a few steps back, bringing Hux with him, but turns them around when he comes upon the desk, almost sitting on the flat surface. One hand lands on top of Hux’s, both pressed firmly onto the edge, his other hand sliding layers of fabric down past hips to bare his ass. Dragging a finger between the cheeks, purposely pulling up short of his hole, Hux drops his head with a mutter. “Still not fixing it. You’re a damn tease.”

Leather might cushion Ren’s hand but the crack it sounds against Hux’s ass is loud. Hux gapes, canting hips back for another blow. “And you’re still begging for it.”

Fingers glistening with precum lift to Hux’s mouth, painting over the bottom lip. The pull down is unnecessary, lips parting at the first pressure, sucking one finger then two into his mouth. He doesn’t want to think how cheekbones are magnified, sharp while long draws inward of those cheeks pull and work the fingers deeper into his mouth. How those cheeks and lips would look from above. Even from behind Ren peers over his shoulder, biting his ear incessantly, grunts all the encouragement Hux needs. That leather hand, having squeezed and pinched the bruise already forming, slips away to adjust suspenders and trousers.

Sliding his cock in his crevice, smearing up and down and teasing muscle, Ren slips his hand out of Hux’s mouth. Wrapping his hand around his length, wetting it, he slides a gloved finger into Hux. He doesn’t stop Hux from rocking back, voice and breath catching with every little bend. “Careful now.” Ren doesn’t sound concerned or gentle, a sound more dangerous than amused rumbling from his throat. “You wouldn’t want your officers to overhear you. They would come to make sure you’re alright.”

A second finger in and Hux keens louder, squeezing his eyes tight for several seconds, staring wide and desperately, unseeing but feeling the jerks and stretches playing inside him. “Kriff… please…”

Ren silences him quickly, sliding his leather clad fingers into his mouth, wetting them with three, four pumps before thrusting them back inside him. Hux’s knees buckle briefly before he locks up his legs, his own leather gloves audibly tightening against the desk. Ren noses behind his ear, brushing hair and skin. “Ready?”

“Now – now!” As quiet as Hux attempts to be the urgent cry of a soldier returns and, for once, Ren obeys. Something appears to break in Hux’s throat, from the way his neck cants back and a pitch of something escapes his lips. It takes him a second to realise the change, the lilt and almost lazy shape his mouth takes around words that would normally be sharp and precise. “Ren.” The R rolls in his mouth, not unlike the roll of his hips coming back against Ren’s. It’s hard to say what acts as the trigger, Ren matching the cadence, or the cadence taking on the pace and beating of Ren’s thrusts.

The only movement of Hux’s hands is to spread wider, arms poised and flexed to catch his weight as Ren drives him forward, strength meeting strength. Taking the thrusts and matching them back Hux groans, pants and curses in that desperate foreign tongue, curling tightly in his stomach. A tether that has no more slack and with it pulls him out. His body and mind are willing, so much so that he starts to reach out his hand.

The gaze that meets his wide eyes is the only reason he stops himself short of pressing the doors open, watching and smug. Ren laughs soundlessly, tilting his head back as he heaves all of himself forward. 

Hux’s fingers jerk loose, flat then clenching in on themselves, unable to keep from crying out. Loud. And Ren does it again, throwing Hux against the table completely, chest nearly hitting the surface before Hux can catch himself, sweaty forehead pressed against his forearm.

The only thought that crosses his mind that isn’t related to his General, Ren and wanton need, is that the table must be nailed down. 

Bending and angling, Hux or Ren or both at the same time, they get closer and stave it off in equal measures. For him it’s torture but Hux loves it, praises and curses as much his desperation as is fuel for Ren. In due time, the weight and thrusts and sweat-snap of skin on skin slide closer, short ragged nails gasping Hux’s thigh and the other hoisting torso up, followed by curling shirt tails up and out of the way from the cock bobbing dangerously slick.

Ren’s eyes are no longer on him, watching his hands curl on the older man, in his control, in his possession. “Look how easily I can wreck you.” A statement so true, words that ought to be gloating for the feverish cast on Hux’s face, lips gasping and eyes drifting, aimless, from a heavy gaze. But the eyes that peer down to him are soft and lips are light against Hux’s hot cheek. “I never would’ve hunted anyone else.”

That doesn’t mean that he relents. Upright they take on a harder, punishing rhythm. For the grunts that tease Hux’s face and hair, breath cooling and slightly drying sweat and curling hair astray, Hux chokes on a laugh between the words that he croons, for Ren, knowing the wonderful affect they have on him. Not knowing how it affects more than just him.

For the words and groans, hands clenching, Hux grabbing hold of the one that refuses to let go of his waist, the overhead light shudders, bright to dim to nearly out to blinding, casting bodies and shadows into contortions, shapes that once were Hux and Ren, still are, just from different perspectives. It has his jaw aching, diaphragm quaking with every breath he wants to take, sagging more in on himself, wanting more than anything to take himself in hand – to take Hux in hand, leaking without a touch. Every jerk, every bend and every single imprint on his mind aches with them, for release. Not to be released from the room but released from their entrapment on his mind and body that he never would have expected. 

He was never good at lying. He couldn’t even convince himself of that.

The light above shatters with two more thrusts, bodies clenching in and around each other, darkness falling over the room for good.

Ren musters up the energy to lift Hux’s hat from the floor, finger combing sweaty strands into place before securing the hat a top his head. “Make the sure the interrogation room is ready for me.”

“You’ll be leaving soon?” The fervor is gone but they continue to lean into each other, and the sweet cadence colours his words.

His nod brings his chin to his shoulder. “Yes.”

A laugh, soft and not so breathless as seconds before. “Shouldn’t that mean you should be getting dressed?”

And Mitaka should be heading back to the bridge. His break was done ten minutes ago.


End file.
